


The Virgin Hale

by LPM



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:43:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LPM/pseuds/LPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a virgin, Stiles changes that. Everybody has fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Virgin Hale

**Author's Note:**

> Retrograde posting. I wrote this a while ago and I'm just putting it up now in the interim between updating my series.

There’s something to be said about perception. It's a powerful thing, and it interferes so strongly with reality that it can warp it into something entirely different. Derek is no stranger to the effects of perception; he’s been done extremely wrong by it and has essentially given up on it ever working in his favor. People think he’s surly, murderous, cold blooded, humorless, emotionless, the list goes on. Derek is only those things sometimes, just like normal people, in real life; he’s mostly very warm. He enjoys knitting as a pastime, he’s a master of the culinary arts, and he has a good eye for interior decorating. None of these are things anyone knows about him…anymore. Laura had been the last person to know and now, of course, she’s dead.

 

Derek mostly lives his life doing what he likes, after the calamity of the 2010-2013 years died down and Beacon Hills stopped being a magnet for the deranged supernatural. He restores his house, he buys an old Harley that needs fixing, and he hires Erica to paint huge sweeping murals on the bare white walls of his home. Nobody expects him to adjust well to life without bloodshed and danger, but Derek is and always has been a homebody, and quiet at heart. The change of pace is satisfying, like watching dust settle after a long disturbance. Of course he keeps his senses sharp, his training grueling, his body on point, but he’s perfectly content to spend days contemplating the shade of seafoam to paint the accent wall in the East facing guest room of his home. The annual issue of CalHome where they feature reader houses is coming up and Derek really thinks he has a shot at getting first place and a $20,000 prize. He doesn’t really need money, but the extra dollars can go to installing some of the more frivolous things he wants around the property.

 

He’s excited about it.

 

While he putters around his property, his young pack flourishes around him. His betas remain in Beacon Hills, move out of their parents’ homes and into his under the pretense of rent. They’re a pack and he doesn’t take rent from any of them, but it’ll put their parents at ease. Jackson is the only one of his betas that leaves, waving smugly from a plane to Boston, where equally smug Harvard awaits him. No one is very sad to see him go, not even Lydia, who leaves for Yale a few days later.

 

Scott eventually gives up on Allison, who turned very hard after that whole thing with her mother. She doesn’t go quite crazy, but she goes to school very far away; she hadn’t been friends with anyone much since that horrible incident anyway and, despite the literal _thousands_ of attempts and pleas Scott made over the 2 years before graduation, she never caved. Derek is fine with this, he felt no guilt over biting the Argent woman when he did it and feels none no matter how much time passes. Anyone that willing, _pleased_ even, to murder an innocent teenage boy, needed to be put down. What he _is_ sorry about is the hangdog look that never left Scott’s face for too long, the year after they broke up. He’s sorry about the shadow in Chris Argent’s blue eyes. But even Chris knows Derek’s bite was without malice, without intent, he’d had to swallow the truth of his wife’s wrongdoing. And the consequences that came with it. Scott goes to a nearby school, studying to be a vet and take over from Deaton when he graduates.

 

Last there is Stiles. Stiles who is a big glitch in Derek’s calm life. He’s not sure where gawky, scrawny Stiles goes, he thinks maybe the years ate him and spat out someone entirely different. Where high school Stiles had been awkward and skinny, all sharp angles and pale swathes of skin, and unsure of himself in a horribly endearing way, the Stiles that goes to Derek’s house one sunny July Friday is something else entirely.

 

“Stiles.” Derek says, and it's a question too. Stiles’ smile is easy and only the slightest bit of nervousness is tucked into the corners of it. 

“Derek.” He says amusedly, and his voice is saying hello but not answering the question. Derek rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath,

 

“what are you doing here?” he finally asks. Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up in an entirely unconvincing show of innocence and he sort of shoulders his way past Derek and into the house to sit on the couch in the living room.

 

“I haven’t seen you in like, a year man! Just dropping by to check up on big Mr. Alpha man.” He says. Derek does an eyebrow thing that means he doesn’t believe Stiles even a little bit, to which the other boy, no _man_ , only laughs. Derek’s eyes are drawn to the column of his neck where his Adam’s apple bobs with the laughter. Its thickened in the year they’ve been apart, like the rest of Stiles. He’d ben taller than Derek by only a hair last time they were together, now there are maybe 2 inches between them, though Derek is, and probably always will be, the bulkier of the two of them. Stiles looks good, Derek can concede to that, his face is just as interestingly rendered as its always been, just with that inexplicable _something_ of a grown man about it that he’d been late in acquiring. He flexes long-fingered hands against his knees and Derek is struck suddenly and intensely with a bolt of desire that makes his mouth go dry.

 

“Aren’t you gonna offer me a tea or something?” Stiles asks, grinning up at him from where he sits on Derek’s couch. Derek freezes and decides to ignore the situation happening in his pants, if he thinks too hard on it he’ll probably hyperventilate and that wouldn’t be too cool of him to do.

 

* * *

 

Derek supposes that perception sometimes works in his favor, like when he wants to get ahead in a crowd, because people always part the way for him. His betas are grateful for his scowling face on the day of the annual Beacon Parade, when they all gather to watch Stiles and Scott perform on the Police float as a dare with one of the young officers. Erica is up on Boyd’s shoulders and waiting, phone clutched in her hands, ready to record the entire thing. Boyd is satisfied that she’s happy and they’re a thing Derek never would have seen happening because Erica had always seemed to him to be a sheep-eating kind. He’d thought wide-eyed innocent Isaac would have been her pick, but then, he supposed, that was his perception warping the reality of things too. When he deigns to look closer, Erica isn’t as hard edged as she likes to put out.

 

“Oh my god there’s Stiles!” Erica squeals from atop Boyd’s shoulders and Derek looks to see a heart-stopping sight. His betas cackle as the music starts up, the song is called Pony by Ginuine and Derek _knows_ what’s about to happen once it begins. Sure enough there are 5 of them, all poured into ridiculous stripper cop uniforms, gyrating a la _Magic Mike_ atop the slowly moving float. Derek’s eyebrows rise at Scott as a surprisingly fluid Channing Tatum, but he almost swallows his tongue when he gets an eyeful of Stiles, whose body movements should be illegal (ha, they’re on a police float). When the spectacle passes close to them, Derek looks up and Stiles is staring dead at him, doing some complicated hip rolling thing and Derek suddenly feels very hot, _too_ hot.

 

Stiles watches him until he has to turn around and focus on the routine.

 

* * *

 

“So…Stiles wants you” Erica announces promptly from atop Boyd’s shoulders where she’s still perched as they walk back to the Camaro.

 

“Erica,” Derek warns flatly, but she’s on a roll and no one is really all that scared of him now. They can’t be after receiving the adorable hand-knit animal scarves he’d made them all last year.

 

“No, no, he absolutely wants you. He wants you to plow him like there’s no tomorrow!” she crows and everyone is wincing because she’s very vulgar. Derek scowls stormily and they all get in the car,

 

“come on Dereeeek, I actually don’t see why you’re not hitting that already.” She says as they start back towards the house. Derek’s hands tighten on the wheel.

 

She needles him about it all the way home and even as Derek sets about making dinner for them all. Boyd and Isaac eventually clear out to go to work, but Erica stays and bothers him.

 

“Come on Derek, I don’t see what’s holding you back.” She’s gotten past teasing and is now actually deliberating the situation.

 

“I mean you’re easy on the eyes, we _know_ Stiles is hot. He’s not underage anymore, you don’t have anyone with you, I know he wants you, I also know you totally like guys too. What is it then I wonder? It’s not like you’ve never done it before…”

Derek’s spine snaps straight involuntarily and he knows by Erica’s sudden sharp intake of breath that she catches it and connects the dots.

 

“ _No_ ” she breathes, in that disbelieving way Derek always hears girls in movies do it. Her eyes are wide as she stares at him and he feels a blush struggling its way to his cheeks. His control is iron though and he fights it down.

 

“Yes.” He deadpans.

 

“B-but…but you’re _Derek_ ” she says, confusion creeping over her features. Derek makes an annoyed sound and slams the chicken he’s planning on cooking onto the cutting board.

 

There it is, perception, gleefully twisting its meddling fingers, turning truth into fantasy, his life into a mirage. If anyone had bothered to look past that bad-boy sexpot thing they all seem to think of him, the illusion is pretty quickly shattered. Kate had been so much older than him when they’d gotten into it and they’d never gone much past heavy petting. Sure her tongue had been _places_ but not much else. After her, his life had dissolved into ashes, literally, and he’d had enough trouble dealing with the despair and horror to let much else in. The last person you were with also being the person who burned your entire family alive, puts enormous walls up around a person, he’d found. Trust was so huge an issue to overcome with him, and it’s only been recently that people have stuck around long enough to do it.

 

“Yeah, and you’re Erica, who should _know better_ ” Derek can’t help being a little disappointed. He thought at least his _pack_ would know him better, look past all the bullshit and at Derek. Erica has the grace to look a bit ashamed and she hops down from where she sits on the kitchen island and goes to wrap her arms around his middle from behind, laying her cheek against his back.

 

“I’m sorry, I should have known” she murmurs softly an squeezes him a little like she knows he likes. Derek decides to forgive her because she _does_ know better, he supposes some things are hard to let go of.

 

* * *

 

 

The summer is a long one and Stiles always seems to be around the house. He keeps Erica company as she paints meticulously detailed designs on the walls, he helps Boyd in the garden sometimes, he advises Isaac on his love problems, and he sticks to Derek like a second skin sometimes. Erica still gives him sly looks, which is almost worst than her thinking he was some sort of Casanova, her eyes say something like _‘Stiles wants to deflower you’_ and Derek only ever sees the word “Deflower” used in regency romance novels (that he secretly loves). Regardless of his discomfort, though, Stiles is very effective at worming his way closer to The Goal (presuming that is Derek’s pants). There’s no mistaking the raw intent that's in Stiles’ eyes when they’re together, there’s no mistaking the heady aroma of desire that seems ever-present when Stiles is in the house.

 

If Derek had had any doubts about it, they’re scattered to the wind one day when Stiles just marches into the room he’s painting, takes him at the shoulders, and kisses him full on the lips.

 

The situation escalates pretty quickly since they’re alone, the house entirely empty for once. Kissing turns into full-on making out, hot and heavy against the unpainted wall of the room, Stiles’ hands are everywhere at once and they’re both breathing heavily.

 

“You don’t even know how damn good you look in those fucking painter’s overalls” Stiles says, voice harsh. “They don’t look good on _anyone_ , where do you get off—“

 

Soon Stiles has divested him of the overalls and Derek is hard and aching already. Stiles licks his lips. Derek’s eyes go wide because he’s ready, he’s so so ready, and then Stiles’ lips are stretching around his cock and Derek growls low because _sweet fucking shit._ Stiles’ tongue isn’t only talented in speech, and he brings Derek to the brink quickly, swallowing when Derek comes with a shout.  

 

“Good?” he breaths, and wipes his mouth. He’s smiling but the edges are hard with unfulfilled lust. Derek nods and reaches over to drag Stiles in for a kiss. He tastes himself on Stiles’ lips and grinds against Stiles’ hard length. Stiles moans and shoves his jeans down, settling between Derek’s spread legs and kissing him anew while thrusting his cloth-covered erection against Derek’s.

 

“Uuugh, I’ve been waiting so long to do this” Stiles groans, face wrinkled in concentration. His hands wrap around Derek’s hips for more leverage as Stiles dry humps against Derek, racing for his completion.

 

When he comes he utters Derek’s name like a benediction and slumps heavily against his body, completely content.

 

* * *

 

“So, have you finally popped it yet?” Erica asks one day as she and Derek take a rare break from working on the house to lounge idly in the sun dappled living room. Derek rolls his eyes at her

 

“not…entirely” he admits when she just stares expectantly at him. The past few weeks since he and Stiles had started “canoodling” have been a whirlwind of heavy petting and heated looks over the dinner table. Derek who, despite saving up his virginity til the ripe old age of 25, is no prude; the wait has been torture for all parties involved, but it has also been necessary for him. Trust is major in his life, and he had to make sure he really trusts Stiles with _this_. Especially because of what he’s about to let the other man do.

 

“soon, really…soon” Derek murmurs.

 

Erica scoffs but raises a worried eyebrow at him, asking if he’s really okay. Derek smiles at her,

 

“I trust him.” He says.

 

And it’s enough.

 

* * *

 

When Stiles ambles into the Hale house later, its empty of the usual infestation of betas. Even Erica, who is like a perpetual house fixture, has disappeared somewhere because she doesn’t immediately appear out of nowhere to punch him in the chest when he loudly implies her ass is fat (it’s not).

 

He walks slowly through the house, wondering if there’s some sort of training event happening and he didn’t get the memo, eventually he walks into Derek’s bedroom to see if at least the Alpha is there, and stops dead at the sight that awaits him.

 

Derek’s eyes are on him, steady and unwavering and unabashed, while three of his fingers slide slowly in and out of his ass. The entrance is stretching around the intrusive digits, glistening with the lube Derek must have smeared all over himself to ease the slide. Stiles’ eyes are glued to the spot, even as he walks into the room and closes the door, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed.

 

“Hi,” Derek says, trying for levity but falling very flat by the heavy panting breath he draws after. His skin is flushed and his dick is so hard, it leaks pearly precome and Stiles’ mouth would be watering if it weren’t so dry.

 

“So…I take it we’re done waiting” Stiles says carefully. He’d known that Derek had some hang ups to get over before they got to fucking. That was fine, he could wait. Stiles has waited a very long time to get into this particular pair of pants, he’d figured he could wait a little longer. Derek licks his lips and the movement is enticing,

 

“Yeah…come here.” Derek says, and that’s enough incentive for Stiles.

 

His clothes are off in record time, his dick already hard and ready to go. He kneels between Derek’s spread legs, taking in the display with wonderment. Who would have thought Derek would be so lewd, so eager? Derek’s fingers are gone and wiped clean on the sheets, he’s biting his lip and watching Stiles,

 

“you sure?” Stiles asks, giving Derek one last chance to back out. Derek smiles and hooks his legs around Stiles’ waist

 

“yeah, I’m sure.” He says. “Now fuck me.”

 

And Stiles does. In deep, long thrusts that make Derek’s breath come out in bursts. He fucks Derek with savage purpose, pumping his dick into Derek’s hole, squeezing and kneading Derek’s ass as he goes. The noises that spill from Derek’s mouth are criminal and they egg Stiles on, faster and harder, until his strokes are irregular. Then Derek takes his own weeping cock into his hand and starts stroking fast, mouth forming half-thought pleas and exaltations. His head is thrown back, his neck on display and Stiles isn’t even a wolf but he’ll be damned if that isn’t hot.

 

“You’re so fucking tight” Stiles moans on an especially long thrust.

 

“It’s because you’re the only one,” Derek grunts, “I’m tight for _you_ and _only_ you.” And Stiles should be worried that this whole possessive wolf thing seems to be working on him but he’s too busy hiking Derek’s hips higher and thrusting harder into him. The idea of Derek’s virgin hole clenching only around him is hot beyond words for some reason.

 

“No one’s done this to you then,” Stiles says darkly, “no one’s made you take them in your sweet little hole, made you beg for the cock like you do for me?” Derek’s answering breathless “unhnn, only you” sets Stiles ablaze.

 

Derek sees the hard possessive glint in Stiles eyes and strokes himself faster, rolling up into Stiles’ hard thrusts with abandon. He feels the orgasm building in him and his mouth drops open,

 

“Stiles, Stiles, I’m coming!” he gasps, and Stiles flashes him a shark’s grin before pounding into Derek exactly against his prostate. And then Derek is coming hard and loudly, walls clenching tightly around Stiles cock. Stiles’ groan is equally loud then as he fucks into Derek a few more times and comes spectacularly inside him.

 

* * *

 

Later, tangled together on the bed, Stiles watches Derek, sleeping contentedly beside him. So he’d been a virgin the whole time, Stiles is actually not all that shocked. Once he’d gotten to know Derek, the entire bad-boy-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks thing just kind of melted away. In his wake was left the reality of Derek Hale. The knitting, interior decorating genius, cookie baking man who Stiles had fallen in love with. He’d known the second he saw Derek when he came back, that he had to have him. It only took a moment to figure out that Derek wanted him too.

 

Soon Derek will wake up and Stiles will fuck him again, slowly, thoroughly, until Derek whines and begs and loses his mind. But for now Stiles is happy to lie back in bed, one hand firmly planted on Derek’s ass, and relax.

 

End.


End file.
